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A Field of Candles by LongDarkRoad Chapter 9 Being Your Slave, What Shall I Do But Tend

A Field of Candles

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 09 Being Your Slave, What Shall I Do But Tend 

Sheffield placed the coffee to Doukas’s right, on the stylish end table. Their hotel rooms were top quality; Doukas insisted, nothing less than five star. And the coffee needed to be excellent.

Sheffield did not care about the coffee but she did care about what Doukas thought. She watched as Doukas sipped the dark, aromatic liquid and smiled. Good, she thought. “Kane is set, sir,” she began, “the two paintings are ready: I will be taking them to her today. You, um, you are sure you don’t want to handle this yourself?”

Doukas looked up at his always efficient assistant, how long had she been with him, it had to be at least twenty years, and marveled once again at the dedication. Sheffield did not have her own life; his life was her life. Amazing. “No, my dear Sheffield, you will deal with the helpful Ms. Kane, I am still involved with a deal or two.”

Doukas’s involvement was with a man who was being particularly difficult; Doukas believed the two had a deal on a certain piece of art, but now there were questions. Well, Doukas would handle this, in his way. “Who’s looking after things in Philly?” he asked.

Sheffield paused in the straining of her tea leaves, “Thomas. Everything is good. Martin has given us another name just yesterday….”

“She has been…helpful.” Doukas murmured. “And it seems she is getting her, issue, under control.”

“Yes, that is true sir. Will we still have leverage on her?”

“She has helped us, hasn’t she, Ms. Sheffield? But how, exactly? There are a couple of laws she has broken right there. No, let her clear up her debt; that is not a problem. I still own her ass.”

Sheffield smiled. “As you say, sir.”


Amara moved her ‘note cards’ around, putting them in an order. She had spent several hours gathering info and now had twelve cards that she needed to make sense of.

As she had related to Nicole, she had played her part with Doukas perfectly over the years but had never forgiven him. Quite simply, she wanted him dead, one way or another and it didn’t need to be by her hand; but that was far easier said than done.

Because Doukas had made it his practice, after the first couple of years when he had to take chances, to remain in the shadows, generally having others commit the deeds or be on ‘the front line’; many people were not even aware that it was he who was responsible for their suffering. Yes, he had killed people, nine that Amara knew of, but it was always secretly and with no witnesses and no mess.

Although Dionysus had rivals and competitors, some harsh, Doukas incredibly had few real enemies personally. There were countless people who he had manipulated, controlled, used, abused and destroyed over the years, but the victims were either too weak to hurt him or unaware of who he was. Doukas always planned and picked his spots perfectly.

Amara had waited, patiently; very, very patiently, as the years went by, maintaining files of allies and enemies; allies that she could trust (her list numbered four) and enemies of Doukas, who could actually do something (and that list was three). Today she felt sure she could add one more name to the enemy list.

It could potentially be the most deadly so far.


The taxi pulled up to the corner in a seedier part of London, the driver looking back and asking, “you shure, guv’na?”

“Fine, my good fellow. I won’t be getting out here.”

Doukas opened the door and a man stepped out from the shadow of a wall and came to the taxi; handed Doukas a large envelope, received a smaller envelope in return; touched the brim of his hat; said “G’day, sir,” and left.

Doukas then gave the driver another address and took out the photos from the large envelope. They showed an attractive woman in her early forties in various sexual poses with a much younger man. This was the wife of the man who was proving difficult. Doukas put the photos back and sat back against the seat, a thin smile on his face.


“So, your date was…good?” Nicole asked, a smirk on her pretty face.

Susan smiled too. They were sitting in a booth in another cozy bar, the kind they both preferred. Not too raucous or filled with noisy drunks. “It was very good, my mistress.”

Ten minutes later, Nicole put down her empty wine glass and murmured, “That is a good story, Sweet Sue; very good. I am a little jealous, actually, but it is my own fault. If you ‘can’t get it up’ you can’t complain, right?” She smiled across the table at Susan, who sat, a little flushed and definitely aroused by her (very detailed, Nicole demanded it) narration of the previous night’s encounter with Beth.

“And this ‘Beth’ definitely wants to see you again.”

Susan paused. What was in Nicole’s mind? “Yes, definitely. She um, well, she wants me as…a slave.”

Nicole looked across the table into the eyes of her submissive. “And what do you want, sweet Suse?”

“I, um, I want to serve you, Miss N. That’s what I want; but if not that, then I want to be with someone. You’ve, um…my mistress, has unlocked a door for me and shown me, myself. I have been in denial and unhappy for, well, years I guess. But I know now what makes me tick. So, yes, I want this, if I can’t be with you.”

Nicole paused, pondering, Amara drifting though her mind. She could work with this; she had options. Without wishing it, Doukas next came to mind. He might be a snake, Nicole thought, but he was right about the need to have options. Nicole smiled across at Susan. “Well, my sweet pussy slave, I think we can work out a suitable arrangement.” She signalled the server; she wanted more wine.


Hailey and Alexis were walking along the edge of a park. Chestnut Hill had a lot of areas like this, some with fairly heavy tree growth, like a little forest. Hailey had been dressed by Mistress Alix; she wore a thin T-shirt and shorts with no underwear at all. She did have socks and sneakers on. As they walked, Alexis slid her hand down inside the back of Hailey’s shorts, Hailey finding it hard to walk with this…activity happening.

“My slave likes this, does she?” Alexis whispered up into Hailey’s ear.

Hailey laughed; she did like it. She had been imagining all day what Alexis would do with her after she got off work; she had just the four-hour shift today.

They stopped. They had reached a junction of two trails; here they were in a less-travelled part of the park, near the edge, but there was still foot traffic, although they had not seen anyone on this path so far.

“Lift up your shirt and stand like that,” Alexis directed, and Hailey lifted her shirt and let her lovely, heavy breasts emerge. Alexis tweaked the small, pink nipples, sucking on one and producing a mark. “That shows you are mine,” she added, before sucking the other breast.

“Look,” Hailey announced and Alexis stood to see two girls coming along, still far enough away that they hadn’t noticed anything.

“Put your shirt down, for now, but just stand there.”

The two girls continued on and were now approaching

them. Both girls were black, around the same age as Hailey and Alexis, maybe a little younger; both were taller than Alexis but shorter than Hailey.

“Yo there, Bitches.” Alexis called out.

“Who you callin’, bitch, Bitch?” The first girl asked, and Alexis laughed to break the tension. She was here for lovin’, not fightin’.

“Easy ladies. Chill. It’s just that I have a bitch-ho here that I need some help with.”

The two girls stopped and looked Hailey up and down and then looked at Alexis, who continued. “She lost a bet and has to do what I say this afternoon and I think she should do some nasty shit, don’t you think?”

“Damn girl, we look like a coupla’ Judy Garland’s to yo’ white mutha’s face?”

“True dat,” the second girl added, folding her arms.

“No, not at all. This is just fun and games, doin’ some nasty to my ho’.”

The black girls exchanged a glance and smiles broke out across their faces. “Hmmm, I like nasty; whatcha thinkin’?” One girl asked; the other stood and watched.

“Well, I’d like to see my bitch here eat some black pussy; does that sound cool. A white bitch on her knees for you.”

The two black girls guffawed out loud and shoved each other, the first girl saying. “No shit?”

Alexis smiled, “No shit. There’s a little quiet spot over there.” She started toward the spot, a little clearing with a small metal bench and good tree coverage; Hailey followed along, her mind going a thousand miles an hour.

“Strip, Slut.” Alexis commanded when they halted, and Hailey removed her shirt and shorts and stood, self-conscious and naked save for her socks and shoes; and also tremendously aroused. “Ok, who wants to use the slave first?” Alexis asked.

There was a pause, as both black girls looked at each other and guffawed some more, before the first girl said, “Shit, I want sum o’ ‘dat white-bitch mouth on my black ass. C’mere Ho.”

The girl hauled Hailey over to the bench before pulling down her jogging pants and thong, revealing a round, brown ass. She knelt down in front of the bench with her ass facing Hailey. “Ok, Bitch, get your white face down there,” she said, sporting a huge grin.

Hailey hesitated for a moment, before leaning forward.


Sheffield was waiting in the area Rosalind Kane used for her business; Kane expressing surprise (and some relief) to see it wasn’t Doukas this time. Sheffield had the two paintings with her; neither was overly large and she placed them on the floor against her legs. In a moment, Kane came bustling in and held out her hand, “Rosalind Kane”, she stated with a flourish.

Sheffield regarded the hand without expression and then looked into the brown face. “I know who you are, Ms. Kane”, she said, and Kane slowly lowered her arm.

“Righty then, I see you have the…objects.” Kane remarked and moved to stand in front of her large and cluttered desk. “May I see them, please.” She smiled a strained smile; this woman was making her uncomfortable.

Sheffield held her gaze before reaching down and lifting up both paintings to her lap. “Of course, Ms. Kane, but first things first.” Kane stared at her, unsure of what she meant. “I think you have forgotten to remove your clothes.”

Kane opened her mouth, then closed it, looking a little like a fish. Sheffield allowed a small smile to crease her stern features. “It’s not really all that complicated Ms. Kane. You begin by unbuttoning your blouse, then move on to your slacks. The thing follows nicely in order, but first you must begin. Start with the blouse.”

“But I thought….” Kane began.

“That because Mr. Doukas wasn’t here the rules changed? No, Ms. Kane, although you won’t have to suck my cock, since I do not possess one. But you will get naked, or I will leave and your large commission will leave with me. How’s that?”

Kane stood for a moment longer and then, sort of in a daze, began to undress, still uncomfortable under Sheffield’s scrutiny.


Doukas had the taxi stop before a row of fashionable three-story houses in one of the trendier districts of London. “Kindly return in one hour,” Doukas murmured, handing the cabbie some bills. As the taxi drove off, Doukas looked up at the house. If his sources were accurate, and they usually were, Mr. Powell was at his club and Mrs. Powell, the lady in the photographs, should be home.

After ringing the bell and waiting, Doukas was greeted by a middle-aged woman in a uniform of some sort. The woman was not inclined to let this ‘foreign-looking’ gent in, but Doukas pressed her to tell her madam that it concerned Nigel. In a moment the woman returned and let Doukas in, but clearly grudgingly.

Ushered into a parlor room furnished in expensive leather couches, Mrs. Powell stood regarding Doukas with suspicion and distaste. “This regards, Nigel? In what way? And who are you?” She asked in quick succession.

Doukas smiled and moved over, settling onto one of the white couches. “Please sit, Madam. You wouldn’t happen to have any vodka?”

Powell was clearly unnerved by the behavior she faced and became flustered. “I don’t see, um. Mr., eh….”

Doukas then removed the photos and held up one that showed Mrs. Powell, breasts with erect nipples prominent, as she sucked on a man’s cock. The man’s face could not be seen, but no doubt Mr. Powell would know the cock wasn’t his, even if he didn’t know who Nigel was.

Mrs. Powell (Daphne) stood open-mouthed. Doukas smiled. “There, that is how it concerns Nigel. It of course concerns you as well. Now, I believe you were going to offer me a drink.” Daphne Powell stood blinking like an owl at a flashlight, almost like her brain was refusing to accept what her eyes had revealed. “Mrs. Powell. Hello.” Doukas spoke a little louder and Powell shook her head and seemed to clear the fog.

“But, what is it you want?”

“Where are your manners, Daphne?” That seemed to get through, as Daphne buzzed for her maid, who arrived promptly, looking hopefully to usher out the intruder.

“Please bring us two vodkas, Margaret. Neat. Thank you.”

Margaret cast a dark look at Doukas but headed off; Powell standing and twisting her fingers together for the few moments it took. Margaret returned and placed the two glasses near Doukas and Powell, who at that moment were not even looking at one another. She left the bottle; perhaps she knew something.

After she bustled out, Doukas rose and closed the door, then stood beside Daphne Powell and handed her the glass. “Bottoms up, my girl.” Doukas downed his drink and Powell did the same, choking slightly and then straightening up. Doukas returned to the sofa and sat. Powell came and stood in front of him. “What do you want Mr….”

“Please call me Mr. Smith. That will work.” Doukas smiled and Powell snorted. “What I want is your cooperation.”

“You’re not here for money…” She stared at him.

Anthony Powell was a wealthy man, but Doukas was worth far more with all his holdings. “Your husband is wealthy, Mrs. Powell, which by the way is why he had you sign that pre-nuptial four years ago; but I do not need his money, at least not for blackmail. That is what you are thinking, yes?”

Powell looked away. Doukas could take her in now; a handsome woman, undoubtedly a stunner in her twenties but now beginning to fight age. Likely worked out though, to keep her fine shape; nice breasts, waist under control; nice ass. Doukas liked what he saw.

“Yes, Mr. um, Smith, that is what I thought when you flashed that photo. I take it you have, more?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Powell. That was one of the quieter ones. The shots of Nigel fucking that lovely arse of yours are stunning and extremely clear. I think you, uh, came at one point. It was spectacular.”

Powell looked like she might throw up; or cry. She poured another drink and then looked at the unwelcome visitor, who nodded and she came and poured Doukas another shot.

“So if not blackmail, then what?” She looked him in the eyes, fear showing clearly in hers.

“Your husband has a painting by one Liebermann, a Jew, taken from a family around 1942 in Berlin. He was to sell it to me. Apparently, he promised it to you; but it seems you don’t really want it, do you?”

Powell laughed at the comment. “Actually, I don’t like it, how’s that? Anthony thinks certain things, impress me. They don’t. He brought that painting out all secretive and everything. I think he actually regretted promising it to me.” She gazed at Doukas; her attitude had softened slightly. “What do you want me to do?”

“Accept it from him and sell it to me.”

Powell snorted again. “I know it has, um, value. What are we talking?”

“I will give you four million pounds.”

She stared at him. “Four. Million? You are serious?”

“Oh, I am very serious.” Doukas of course had a buyer who would pay him nine million, but in money matters he

was always fair.

“That is, unbelievable.”

“I suppose. But it is true.”

Powell stood in thought. “I can get it and just bring it to you. But…”

“But how can you trust me?”

She nodded her head.

“I’m staying at the Stafford. Nothing will happen to you there. Get one of those artist’s canvas bags; that will conceal it.”

“And when Anthony finds out?”

“I have a perfect forgery that only an expert could disclose. Your husband will never know. Set up an account at this Swiss bank (he handed her a card); you can do it all by phone. I would transfer the funds into your account; the bank would verify; you would take the duplicate and return home. Done. And these (he held up the envelope) would stay our little secret.”

He stood and looked at her; she was trembling but certainly convinced. Doukas was not sure if she was more excited about the money or relieved at not being exposed as a whore. He reached forward and undid four buttons of Powell’s expensive white blouse without resistance; he then reached in, under the custom bra and squeezed one full breast, Powell standing with her eyes closed.

He withdrew his hand and she opened her eyes. “Let’s say tomorrow at three?”

She nodded her head. Doukas left.


After ringing the bell, Susan stood in anxious anticipation. What if she were just imagining things? What if this was a dead end too?

Then the door opened and Beth stood smiling at her, “This is a pleasant surprise. Come in. Come in. Here, let’s hang up your jacket.” That job completed, Susan followed Beth down the hall to her little entertaining- guests room. Beth sat on a chair and Susan on the adjacent couch. “So what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Is this Susan Koning or…Sweet Sue?” Beth’s eyes held a decided twinkle.

Susan slipped off the couch and knelt before the woman, her heart racing and her thoughts swirling, “It, um, it is definitely, Sweet Sue, Mistress Beth, if you would have me.” Susan looked up with a face full of need and submission. Beth reached out and touched the woman’s face.

“That is very good, Sweet Sue. I was hoping you would return to me.” They both smiled, then Beth waggled an index finger. “Well, what are you doing with all those clothes still on, come on.”

Both women smiled more broadly as Susan began discarding her garments.


Daphne Powell, the duplicate painting on its way to Margaret with instructions on its storage, now entered the last numbers of the code Doukas (she now knew his name) had given her and opened her new account. There was an amount limit in place, but she could see that one million pounds had been deposited and three more deposits of one million each were pending.

“There’s no way you can stop this happening?” Powell looked over at Doukas, who smiled; the smile was a little less thin than usual.

“No, I can’t; and I wouldn’t. I am not a liar and I am not a cheat, whatever else I may be.” Powell nodded; she believed him. She was sitting naked on a chair in Doukas’s hotel room.

Before transferring the money, Doukas had expected his usual female compliance. Powell was a little stubborn, in the end saying that if Doukas wanted her naked he would have to undress her; which he did. It was not an unfamiliar task to him.

When he had Powell naked he posed her so he could admire this forty-two-year-old woman, who clearly looked after herself. She had a wonderful, ‘womanly’ body and Doukas appreciated it.

Daphne also showed herself to be very skilled at oral sex; so much so, that Doukas was convinced she had likely been a ‘pro’ at some point in her life. She worked him perfectly and took his spunk without hesitation, looking up at him with a small smile (a grimace perhaps?) on her attractive face.

They had then completed the business part of things with the transfer of millions, and now were just sitting. Daphne then did an odd thing, at least as far as Doukas was concerned; she slid down to the floor and leaned against his legs, resting her head on his knee. Almost involuntarily, Doukas stroked the thick, brown/blonde hair. Daphne looked up at him, and Doukas, not sure why, asked her, “So, what will you do now?”

She smiled. “I’ve chatted with my counsel and will fly to Switzerland tomorrow; once I have all the banking looked after, my solicitor will serve Anthony with divorce papers. I’m not grinding him, I think he will agree. I’ll get the apartment in Notting Hill, but I plan on buying something else, some place warmer.”

They sat quietly for a moment before Daphne asked, in a voice Doukas found alluring, “Where do you live, Louis. May I call you Louis?”

A strange feeling now flooded through the man; it was so odd, hearing someone say his given name; how many years had it been? Thirty? Maybe more. He was lost in thought for a moment before he replied, surprisingly to himself, astoundingly to Sheffield, were she present.

“You may call me Louis; no one has for a long, long time.” He sat silently for another moment. “As for where I live, I own, mmmm, eleven houses.”

Daphne looked up at him, neither of them wondering why she was still naked. “You own eleven bloody houses? Where? Why? Who looks after them?”

Doukas laughed, “I may have to limit you to one question at a time, my lovely Ms. Powell….”

“Daphne, please. I’ve never referred to myself as Ms. Powell.”

Doukas looked down at her, thinking again what a handsome woman she was, he then listed off the countries and the properties. “And, of course, I have eleven housekeepers to look after my eleven houses.” He laughed and reached for the vodka; Daphne moved over and retrieved her glass.

“Yes please, this is good vodka.”

Doukas poured and murmured, “I have it sent from Shatska, in Russia. I like quality.”

Daphne looked at him as she sipped her vodka.

“You should drink, not sip.”

“Hush…Louis, I’ll sip if I want to.” She smiled at him and he laughed, she continued. “My flight leaves tomorrow at one, so I would need a room.” She paused and looked more pointedly at him; he raised his eyebrows. “Could I just stay…here?”

Doukas looked at the woman for a moment, before smiling and murmuring, “We will need to find you a toothbrush.”


(End of Chapter 9)

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